The End of the Story.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 206, 1 September 1933, Page 13

The End of the Story.

(Short Story.)

(By J.J.A.)

As he strode along the rough track which fringed the common, the man in the weathered straw hat, who was carrying two wriggling porkers under either arm, saw the two-seater at the turn to Nibbs, and, coming from the empty cottage, a young woman. The day was eweltryj ho was coatlessj his flannel ghirt was open at the neck. "Hil" 6he called. He stayed in his stride and stood awaiting her approach with something like a smile in his keen, steely-blue eyes. Her manner showed that she was very much alive —a lady accustomed to command. On nearer approach he saw that ehe was strikingly good-looking. She saw him, a man of forty, big-built, ruddy with health, a son of the soil with the stamp of guardsman. "Can you tell me were I can get the l»y of that cottage, my man?" she asked. "Surely," he replicjl. "It be under a brick by the door. A tumble-down old place it be." "I can see that," she said. "But what a view from the windows!" "Oi should sa-ay theer be no finer in this parish," he drawled. 'T can see artistic possibilities in that barn alongside," she said. "It seems to be just, the place I have been looking for." "It be in the market," said the man, •The young aquire, loike many another, has been forced to realise the estate. Oi believe it be as good as sold. A tradesman from the city ha' been arter it for a week-end cottage. So far as Oi knows he bain't artistic."

"And you wouldn't like him for a neighbour," she laughed. "You needn't tell me. I know you countryfolk don't like furriners." "Why should Oi mind whether him or any other J" he returned, with his quizzical smile. "I like your pets," ehe eaid, with mirth in her eyes. "Pets, ye carl 'em," he said. "Glad Oi'll be to shut on 'em. This 'un be fox o'd Dinah Morris, and this un for Seth Blakeway. They buy 'em young and bring 'em on for bacon. Pigs be a bad market to-day, miss." "Something or other is always a bad market for farmers," ehe laughed. "Perhaps you can tell me who has the handling of the property." '"Lawyer Pargeter at Munkley," he returned. "He be the estate mono' business. Oi wish 'ce good-day, miss." "Good-day to you," she said, as sha turned again for the cottage. Over his shoulder he watched her brisk movement, -and went smiling on his way. A quarter of an hour later, as he was returning along the track, having disposed of his awkvmrd charges, he met tie two-seater coming in his direction. At recognition she pulled up. "Just whereabouts is Pargeter*s office, my man," she asked. "By the church," he returned. "Ye found the o'd cottage in shockin' condi"That view's wonderful," she said. "It arlus ha' been," he said. "Views dunna' fill, the pantry." . . . , „ , "There speaks the bucolic mind, sha laughed. . , . While he stood rubbing his head she was away. . At entry into the lawyer's private office she took the client's chair, and came to the point of her call in manner which caused the grey-haired, deliberate gentleman to elevate his eyebrows as he fingered her. card. "I'm here to buy that old cottage— Nibbs, I think it is called," she said. «It's exactly what I want." . "I'm afraid you're too late, Miss Arden," he said. "The cottage is practically sold. Only this morning the vendor decided to accept the price offered. "That means it's still on offer, she said "I bid the vendor's price without quibble. I write. That may or may not eUvey much to yon, but that cottage must be mine." The lawyer permitted himself to smile. "Subject to the owner's consent, I have no objection" he observed. It rests with him. I may say that, having agreed to accept the price _ already offered, he.may say the matter is closed. He's that kind of man is Mr. Bobert *5 am rather direct myself," said the lady. "Perhaps you can 'phone mm? "11l try," said the lawyer. "He farms the Home farm, and may be about the buildings." . uuiL "Tell him an authoress of some litue repute thinks she can do the good work when she has the place to her mind, she said. "The view from the windows is inspiring, Mr. Pargeter." "I'm afraid he would he indifferent; to that," returned the lawyer. "The circumstances of his life have left him somewhat embittered, more than a little C7 "Tha't's a pity," she commented. "Jaundiced outlook misses so much thai is heartening." . . ■ The lawyer took the receiver m Ins hand and called a number. He liked the lady Her easy manner and her frankness were refreshing. "We're fortunate,"' he said, as the reply came through. "He's there . . . Yes, Pargeter speaking. I have a Miss Mary Arden with me. She offers the reserve for Nibbs cottage . ■ •" The girl put out her hand for the receiver. "Allow me," she said. The lawyer smiled, and gave her the instrument. -.'.*, , "I'm Mary Arden, Mr. Clent," she said. "I want to make a home of that cottage. It promises good work. Say yes, please. I'm keen to get the builders along. What's that? Used to having my own way? Well, perhaps I am. I know there's a pork butcher after it; Any old cottage will do for him, but i want Nibbs. I've it planned in my mind —the place it will be. May I givs Mr. Pargeter a cheque? Give you the gentleman? Certainly!" She handed the receiver over, and sat drumming her fingers while the conversation proceeded. 'Very well," said the deliberate gentleman. "I will deal with the matter accordingly." He rang off with a dry smile, and sat back with fingers touching across his waistcoat. ' ; "' "Mr. Clctnt leaves- the. matter m my hands," he announced. ,-. "That means I get it," she said, as she -found her cheque book. "What s the amount of- the deposit? I want immediate possession, and if you can give me the name of a reliable builder I'll have him busy. I shall want a good gardener, too-—a man who'll carry out my ideas. Can you recommend anybody?'' j-. i ■ ' • ' . ,„ "You : do not let the grass grow, Miss Arden/' said the lawyer.) "Meggitt, I think! can be-trusted to carry'oilt your pla::s; and I know the gardener for you. Who sent you- to me?" <• — : —

"A man I met by the cottage:—a sturdy rustic with rather remarkable steely-blue eyes and quite good features," she returned with a laugh. "He was carrying two porkers under his arms. I fancy he must live somewhere near." "Tall, well-built, was he?" inquired the lawyer. "He was, and soldierly," she answered. "About forty by the look of him. As a type he interested me. Do you know him?" "I think so," returned the lawyer. "By your description he would be none other than Robert Clent, the present owner of the cottage." "The rather cynical Mr. Clent acting the yokel," she remarked, surprisedly. "His idea or humour," observed the lawyer. "You found him brusque?" "I'm rather that way myself," she laughed, as she rose. "Good-bye, and thank you, Mr. Pargeter. Settlement, shall we say, on Friday morning? I'll be here." "A clever woman," commented the lawyer, as he shut the door behind her. "Clever, and charming." "So that's his idea of humour," said Mary to herself, as she got into her car. "Very well, Mr. Robert Clent." Robert strode up the turn to Nibbs in the cool of the summer evening to stand by the field gate gazing at the cottage. Almost derelict, the transformation in short time, under the drive of its astonishing lady owner, had been, wonderful. While the work had been in hand he had been along many times. No suggestion from him had been invited or given. He had simply happened along in neighbourliness, and, between Mary and him from his first visit, had been the easy friendliness of equals. There had been an interchange of banter at his assumption of the yokel when they had first met. "You called me 'my man,'" he had chaffed her. "I had to act up to it." She had laughingly assured him that he had acted the part badly. From her settling in he had taken to calling occasionally in the evenings, and always he had found himself welcomed. His farm land adjoined the cottage property. Before her coming he had spent his nights with pipe and book—a man disinclined for company— now he found himself prompted often to pass along the field path by Nibbs on his walks. At his approach she looked up from her work and smiled. "How's the work going?" he asked. "Well," she replied, "there's a lot in right environment to the temperamental. I knew I should find this right." "You're wonderfully capable," he said. "I like you. I like coming to talk to you after the day's work. Your coming here has taken me out of myself. There's something about you—your frank nature, I think —that appeals to me. I've known you for two months, and I'm glad you came here,"

"I don't dislike you," she eaid with a smile. "Shall I tell you how I see you? I pride myself I can read character. Blunt, resolute, not, according to heresay, sociable, and yet at heart, I think, a paladin. It is something for a woman to have won your liking." "A man may have reason for apparent unsociability," he said. "Injury which bites so deep as to bring;^P»°» n "™ t ; You wouldn't understand that with youi nature, perhaps, but not many women are like you." „ , "The cynic is made, not born, she said. "You say I'm frank; you say you like me. I live largely in a world of romance created by my own pagination, shaping the lives of these children 0 ray Lain to that satisfying happiness of the final page. The secret is in visualising the happy ending at the penning of the Srt SZ Sometimes the characters get out of hand, and the happy ending is not easy to bring about. I have such a story but perhaps my ' practical br°ain may suggestion whtth will make the conelus.oii what lt should be " he returned with a smile. I*t us face the difficulties together. "It is a tale of two ill-mated—the man of strong character, .like your elf the woman, pleasure-loving, a litue needleT Their attraction was phys.ca 1, ? n temperament they were ; ibles The man had his own interest, which were not hers. They lived together, like many other couples, m polite acceptance of the situation. To the world they were a happily-wedded pair; but the. marriage was not a success. For nearly four years they made pretence of happiness, and then one night the woman—her name was Lelia— told him that their marriage had been a mistake. She cared for somebodybetter. She must have her freedom Coldly furious at her avowal he declared her mad, and, at her quiet insistence, told her he was not having his name dragged through the mire. She was his wife, and his wife she would remain. The man came to him, and attempting no excuse, told him to his face that any affection she might have had for him was dead, and she was coming to nun. The evidence for divorce would be promptly supplied. That night she went awav." In his chair Robert Clent sat with pipe which had gone out in his clenched hand. His face had gone stern, his eyes, showed hardly glittering. "Her name was Celia," he said. Why do you tell me this old story? The injured husband refused to divorce the wayward wife. Do you question his right to that satisfaction after such a "shameful betrayal?" The woman leaned forward in her chair, regarding him intently. "You know me as Mary Arden, my friend," she answered quietly. ''That' is not my real name. The man to whom Celia Wen": is my cousin." . • - -* v ::,'. .V/'.

"Your cousin,** he murmured. "The gentleman who alienated the wife's affection is your cousin. That explains your knowledge of the rather sordid story. Did you take this cottage with the idea of some such evening as this in your mind?" "I came here to get acquainted with Mi*. Robert Clent," she confessed. "We'll still be frank. The cottage was an afterthought. I think we know each other well enough now for plain speaking, Robert." "Yes," he said. "What then? The end of your story is told. There are some wrongs which cannot be condoned." "If I tell you there is now a stronger reason which should make you, in decency, move from your decision, what then?" she asked. "You may not forgive, but I want you to do the gentlemanly thing. The necessary action can be hastened. You have no right to keep Celia legally bound to you. To do so now is to besmirch yourself. You must free her." On his feet he stood gazing beyond her, his face set like stone. "I wish you good-night." The words came hoarsely. Set-faced he strode away. In her garden Mary saw him coming along the track which edged the common. For three days he had not been near the cottage. She knew that he had been fighting. He strode quickly, as a man who had business afoot. In his steps she read decision. "Well, Robert," she greeted him, as he came into the garden. "You're a wonderful woman, Mary," he said. "I want to know this. Could you have acted as Celia did?" "Why, no," ehe answered. "If I ever promise myself I shall be very sure of my man. There will never be any otter." "What you told me has brought me face to face with realities," he confessed. "In such circumstances I injure an innocent. I cannot do that, Mary. lam on my way to Pargeter." "I knew you would go," she said quietly. "Celia should never have married you, Robert. You were not her man. Bonds under such conditions are galling; when affection passes to another they are tragic. There could be no sweetness in such existence. You have regarded Geoffrey as a scoundrel. According to the strict moral code I suppose he was; but when there could be no true happiness for you with a wife who hated her wifehood and who wanted him as he wanted her, I think 'ho did the straight thing in coming to you. Geoff, is really not a bad" sort. To lose is sometimes gain. The blow was to your pride. Revenge, under such circumstances is far from sweet, Robert." "Such talk could only bo to friend,* he said. "You came here, Mary, of set purpose. You came to make me friend so that you might say to me what you have. lam glad you came." "There can be no pretence between us," she said. "I came to persuade you not to be guilty of this stigma which would have belittled you. Now you havo told me you will free Celia as soon as may be I will tell you that I am glad for my own sake. That's what come of our friendship . . . Bob." Smile in his eyes he took her two hands. "The wheels of the law will move too slowly for me," he said. "I wish I had met you before the wasted years, Mary." "The years ahead will make up for them when wo are together, my man," she said.